


Blood and Fire

by Mistflyer1102



Category: Captain America (Movies), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic battle, M/M, Mission Gone Wrong, Winter Soldier shows up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is tasked with a prisoner transfer between MI6 and the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p>He didn't factor in the appearance of a legendary assassin, but is determined to carry out his mission regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretninjagirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretninjagirl/gifts).



“I hate this.”

James Bond, Agent 007 of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, glanced at his partner who stood nearby on the open tarmac with a frown. Unlike Bond, who wore black body armor intending to stand out as the security officer overseeing the imminent prisoner transfer between S.H.I.E.L.D. and MI6, Alec Trevelyan wore the drab gray uniform of the other MI6 personnel. He’d pulled his cap low to roughly conceal the burn scars on the lower right side of his face. “Well, you did used to hate anything that didn’t happen right away,” Bond said after a moment, refraining from reaching out to affirm Alec’s presence, a habit he kept even two years after the latter’s return. He glanced back at the other personnel, checking that their second trump card was still out of sight before he stepped closer. “Did you hear something from the underground?” he asked carefully a moment later.

Alec shrugged. “Perhaps…only rumors if anything.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the others were busy before turning back to Bond. “Have you heard of the Winter Soldier?” he asked.

“Who hasn’t? The senior administrators of MI6 believe he exists, thanks to a confirmed sighting back in ’76,” Bond replied, readjusting his grip on the rifle.

“Well, he’s not someone to fuck around with, he’s rumored to have been the man who gunned down Nick Fury.” Alec hesitated, glanced back at the other personnel remaining in position, and then said in a lower voice, “Not too long after you thought I died at Arkhangelsk back in ’07, Hydra invited a group of crime leaders, including myself, for a live demonstration of the Winter Soldier’s abilities in Prague. Three of us were murdered as we waited in the hotel before the mob boss Valentin Zukovsky realized that the Winter Soldier was an American posing as a Russian. We spoke only Russian for the remainder of the visit, and found the only Russian speaker with an American accent in the hotel.” Alec shook his head. “The hosts brought together the survivors to finish showing him off. Apparently he was of Soviet origin, but I did not pursue the lead since I saw no reason to continue carrying out M’s orders. She’d cut me loose by then.” He narrowed his eyes before he snapped softly, “ _Now_ do you see why I don’t like this exchange at all?”

“So you’re worried that the Winter Soldier will appear on Hydra’s orders to kill us?” Bond said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I’d kill him first before he got to you,” Alec said in an even tone, turning back to face Bond. “What I worry about is that he might kill one of the prisoners before we can interrogate them, find out why they’re special to him. I can’t think of any other reason why he would come here as the rumors seem to suggest.”

“I doubt he’ll get that close for you to take the first shot, I’ve got the longer rifle,” Bond replied, smirking before leaning in to steal a quick kiss. He pulled back before Alec could reciprocate, and said, “A little faster next time, hm?”

“Fuck you,” Alec growled, the lack of venom audible in his voice.

“Later. Let’s not traumatize the baby agents,” Bond replied, nodding to the nearby personnel despite his piqued interest.

Alec shrugged with one shoulder. “Might as well, I’ve already scared two Q-Branch staff members overseeing us and mentally scarred a third,” he said, readjusting his cap to avoid potential recognition from the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel that Bond knew would arrive within the next two minutes.

“I don’t think S.H.I.E.L.D. would appreciate losing a few agents, I don’t share very well,” Bond said, grinning as he spotted the black armored van approaching on the solitary road that led to the airfield.

Alec gave him a rare smile even as he backed away to rejoin his comrades. “Make that four out-of-commission Q-Branch staff members,” he said, tapping his earpiece before fussing with the cap for a few moments. Bond moved close again and swatted his hand aside.

“Q counts as two of his regulars, just keep that in mind,” Bond said, brow furrowing as he made the minute adjustments to the cap and finally released Alec.

“All right then, I meant to say ‘five out-of-commission Q-Branch staff members’.”

“Get the agents ready, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can go back home,” Bond said, gesturing for Alec to move. _Go back home together, I’ll make sure of that this time,_ he thought before turning his attention back to the van, which had finally parked. He’d made a critical mistake seven years ago, mourning Alec for dead after Arkhangelsk, but at the onset of their first dual mission since Alec’s return home two years before, he was determined to ensure that Alec came home with him. _Alive_.

Two women got out of the cab, Bond recognizing the passenger as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new director, Maria Hill. She wore S.H.I.E.L.D.’s distinctive blue uniform and insignias, dark hair pulled back and mouth drawn in a thin line as though silently challenging Bond to question her legitimacy as acting Director. Behind her, the blond driver remained near the vehicle, her nametag— _B. Morse_ —visible from where Bond stood. He turned back to Hill and said, “Director Hill.”

“Double-oh seven,” she replied in a crisp tone, glancing warily at the personnel behind Bond. “Five convicted Cold War prisoners, as requested. We took advantage of the weapon dealer’s dual citizenship to process him as Russian, to smooth over the registration process when they arrive to Belmarsh,” she said as she handed over a short stack of files, discreetly palming a small memory stick into Bond’s hand. “These are the hard copies of their records, and the flashdrive contains supplemental material on Prisoner Number Four. Namely interrogation materials, but I suspect it might help MI6 in solving a few cold cases from the 1970s,” she said quietly. “Each individual had received genetic modifications of some kind before arriving to the Big House, but we’re still trying to identify the exact substances used on Prisoners Three and Four.”

“Noted.” Bond signaled for Alec before turning back to Hill. “Are all medical records included in the package?” he asked as Alec jogged over to the two of them.

“Yes. If you need anything else, please contact us. The Big House records, along with all the other prisons, were on a separate network from the rest of the agency and therefore unaffected by the data dump,” Hill replied, shifting in place slightly.

Bond frowned, but continued on. “That won’t be necessary,” he said before turning to Alec. “Get the prisoners onboard, and tell the pilots to prepare for immediate takeoff. I want to be moving the second all five are onboard,” he ordered before passing the files over. The memory stick he slipped into his utility pouch.

“Yes, sir.” Alec left, signaling his immediate subordinate, and Bond relaxed when he heard the plane’s engines flare to life.

Bond turned to Hill, who met his gaze. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked, noting that for a professional, she couldn’t stand still.

“No,” she said, brown eyes meeting his as she lifted her chin.

Bond nodded, quiet alarms ringing in his head as he stepped around her to better observe the MI6 and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents escorting each prisoner out of the back of the van. Each man wore a black, eyeless hood and white uniforms. Each prisoner’s hands were cuffed in front of him, and chains connected their collars while agents guided them towards the landing ramp. Bond glanced at Hill, and then said, “Until next time, Director.”

“Likewise.” She signaled Morse, who got back into the driver’s seat and started the engine as Hill jogged over to join her.

Bond, meanwhile, kept an eye on each of the five prisoners as he tightened his grip on the rifle. As far as he could tell, no snipers lurked in the open fields surrounding the tarmac. Their second trump card, the sniper known as 001, had used paint pellets the night before in a series of tests to determine the effectiveness of three different sniper rifles from different distances, allowing Alec and Bond to sketch in a barely-visible ‘safe zone’ with chalk. Out of the corner of his eye, Bond watched Alec gently corral the first prisoner and the MI6 agent leading them through gentle nudges while speaking quietly with the agent.

 _The sooner we leave, the better_.

Bond fell in step behind the last prisoner, pausing long enough to ensure that the S.H.I.E.L.D. van had disappeared before glancing around the area one last time. Seeing nothing out of place, he allowed himself one moment to relax, glancing at their shadows moving across the tarmac and disappearing one by one into the plane. Counting each shadow out of slight interest, he frowned when he came up with ten shadows in comparison to the nine agents and prisoners still on the tarmac, other than himself.

_One extra._

Bond looked up sharply in time to see a figure standing up on the plane wing, pulling something out of his side.

 _Sniper_.

“ _Alec! GO!”_ he bellowed just as the attacker fired in the same second Alec yanked on the first prisoner’s collar and dragged him forward, the subordinate doing the same to the second man’s collar. Bond fired at the attacker, clipping the man’s left shoulder and sending the man’s next shot wide. Bond used that moment to shove the last prisoner forward onto the plane, a flash of silver catching his eye as he dropped the rifle. He looked up in time to see the attacker pull a knife out, and tried to fire again, but the attacker easily dodged the bullet before jumping from the fuselage to the tail fin, which he used to jump off towards the ground. Bond used those precious seconds to move up the ramp and block the way, giving Alec a little more time to pull the last few prisoners up and onto the plane. “Go without me!” he shouted at Alec.

 _“Are you fucking crazy?_ ” Alec shouted even as he fired past Bond’s shoulder.

 _“Go!”_ Bond snapped before charging the approaching attacker, driving his left shoulder into the attacker’s chest and sent the two of them back onto the tarmac. Bond rolled off in time to avoid a knife to the ribs, the ramp lifting and sealing shut in the periphery of his vision. He reached out and grabbed the attacker’s left jacket sleeve, fingers curling into the shredded fabric from the earlier bullet as he tried to slow the attacker down and buy the plane a few more seconds to escape.

_Riiip!_

The attacker stumbled as the jacket sleeve ripped, but Bond felt a cold tendril of panic curl in his gut when the rising sun reflected off a metallic surface where the left arm should have been.

_Shit, shit, shit-_

A gloved fist to the face caught Bond off guard, forcing him to twist away despite the familiar dull ache in his nose. Bond remained in a crouch for a split second before starting to reach for the Walther PPK he kept at his side as he stood up. The Winter Soldier watched him carefully for a second with focused brown eyes before he swiped at Bond once with a knife before attempting to punch him, forcing Bond back as he blocked each blow to the face. Feinting a strike to the left, Bond knocked a sheathed knife off of the Winter Soldier’s belt, barely spotting the unused weapon in time.

He carefully remained just out of the Winter Soldier’s reach, at a complete loss of what to do about the mechanical arm. He found himself having to rotate his blocking arm just to keep the metal from jarring his bones in the same spot with each strike. Grunting, he blocked another left round punch, but then lowered the arm to grasp the metal elbow while lining up forearms and using his elbow to block the Winter Soldier’s hand, checking him. Then he forced the entire arm down, putting all his weight behind the push and ducking his head in time to avoid a blow from the right. As they fell to the ground, Bond felt the Winter Soldier’s arms encircling his upper chest as the hands reached for the back of Bond’s neck.

Bond snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead against the Winter Soldier’s. He grunted when the two men landed on the tarmac, but rolled out of the Winter Soldier’s grip when the Winter Soldier instinctively reached up to protect his face. Bond stood and fired the Walther, flinching at the metallic _ping_ of the two bullets deflecting off the metal arm. “You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me,” he growled as he backpedaled away, thinking quickly as the Winter Soldier stood up again. Re-holstering the Walther—no sense in wasting bullets unless it was point-blank to the head—Bond instead spotted the sheathed knife that he’d knocked aside earlier. He feinted an attack, darting forward to the left and kicking off with his left foot to lunge to the right for the knife even as the Winter Soldier moved to protect his arm. Bond snatched up the knife as the Winter Soldier snarled, pulling his own out before charging forward. Bond dropped the knife, bracing himself for impact.

_Whump!_

The Winter Soldier _slammed_ Bond onto the tarmac, sending the Walther skittering away. Bond bit his lip, drawing blood as his head made contact with the tarmac with an audible _crack_. He struggled as the Winter Soldier straddled him, pressing both knees into his chest and wrapping hands around Bond’s neck, the metal cold and alien against his skin. Bond forced himself to remain calm and continue prying the Winter Soldier’s hands off even as the pressure increased and black spots swam into his vision. For a split second, he made eye contact with the man above him, mildly surprised at the man’s scruffy but _youthful_ appearance.

“ _James!”_

Bond and the Winter Soldier both looked up at the same time, and then Winter Soldier promptly rolled off Bond as Alec started firing at him. Snatching up Bond’s dropped Walther, the Winter Soldier rolled into a crouch and aimed the gun at Alec, who instinctively slowed. Bond saw, for a split second, a flicker of shock and recognition cross the Winter Soldier’s eyes before he pulled the trigger.

_Click!_

It was almost worth being strangled to see the Winter Soldier’s shocked expression when the Walther clicked with each press of the trigger, the three sensor lights glowing red above the palmprint-sensitive handgrip. Pain flared in Bond’s ribs as he struggled not to laugh, humor turning into worry when Alec wordlessly charged forward again, gun raised and aimed straight at the Winter Soldier’s head as he pulled the trigger-

* * *

_I can’t miss him this time._

“Any sign of him yet, Sam?” Steve Rogers asked into the communicator as he focused on the tree-lined road ahead of him. Shelby’s Airfield— _S.H.I.E.L.D. property, remote location_ —was less than two miles away now, and he knew Hill was already there, laying the bait. Steve knew he had to be present to stop Bucky from actually murdering the intended victim, a former KGB officer who was also the former trainer of the Winter Soldier. He also had to prevent an even greater flare of violence against the MI6 agents on the receiving end of the transfer. Hill had been adamant about the MI6 agents surviving, especially since he’d asked her not to warn the agents ahead of time.

_No, wait. There were two KGB officers, not one._

The first, if he remembered Hill’s information from prison records, was Bucky’s intended victim: Nikolai Menshikov. The second was Menshikov’s left-hand man, Ivan Sokoloff. There should have been a third officer to complete the command triumvirate, but Hill said that the third man deserted in ’74 and took his wife’s surname to hide. The Winter Soldier, on Menshikov’s orders, killed the wife before the third man killed himself to avoid returning to the Red Room. They’d left behind an infant son that swiftly disappeared into the foster care system in London. The man’s name had been Andrei Kuznetsov, but Menshikov, when interrogated last night, could not remember the English name.

The crackle of static brought Steve back to the present. _“Negative, Hill’s just talking to the Six goons. Fifteen grunts, one security officer, and two pilots. They picked a good spot, there’s a huge field between the tarmac and me, and I’m in the trees. I can’t get closer or they’ll arrest me and I’ll be dragged back to London,”_ Sam Wilson replied quietly.

“Thought you always wanted to go to London,” Steve quipped as he pressed the accelerator a little more.

_“Yeah, with the VIP passes that Sharon has. Hill said she had family in London for the longest time, she knows the ropes.”_

Steve grinned despite himself. Sharon had disappeared not long after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s collapse, and Hill said that she’d sent the agent to Europe to coax other intelligence agencies into recovering exposed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents around the world. “Maybe we could track down Kuznetsov’s missing son while in London, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t look much different from his parents. The Red Room might be looking for him, and Buck is probably the only one out of us who can recognize him.”

_“Assuming he recognizes you first.”_

“He will…he has to.” The last part disappeared into a murmur, but Steve tried not to think of what could happen if Bucky truly didn’t remember him. He still recalled the day that S.H.I.E.L.D. revived him from the ice and the ensuing chase, the dull throbbing pain in his chest when he realized that Bucky died seventy years ago as opposed to the day before, as Steve initially assumed. He still remembered the little curl of fear in his chest when Fury asked if he was all right, and then a technical truth— _I had a date_ —to cover up his mourning of lost but forbidden intimacy.

 _“Cap?_ ”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, quelling his panic when he saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. van finally approaching him on the other side of the road, but he could also see the airfield. He heard the faint thrumming of engines and saw the line of figures as several personnel escorted the prisoners to the plane. A solitary bulky figure brought up the rear, a silhouette of a long rifle visible to the eye against the morning sun. “I see them loading the plane, get ready to help me cause a distraction, slow them down a bit.” He pulled the ‘borrowed’ Jeep over to the side near the trees, and then turned the engine off. “Going the rest of the way on foot.”

_“Careful. Security officer looks like the twitchy trigger-finger type, I think Hill made him nervous.”_

“Of course,” Steve muttered as he climbed out of the car, reaching reflexively for a shield that wasn’t there. Shaking his head, he said, “Keep me updated,” as he closed the door, preparing to use the long grasses as cover in case the security officer spotted him.

He no longer needed the verbal update when the fight broke out.

Steve looked up in time to see a new figure jump from the plane, colliding with the security officer. Swearing under his breath, he broke out into a run, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sam took flight towards the airfield. Then, when he turned back to locate the fighters, he saw the plane heading down the runway, two figures dropping from the ramp and onto the tarmac seconds before the plane took off into the skies. One rolled into a crouch and immediately raised a rifle while the other broke into a run towards the combatants.

“Sam, _sniper!”_ he shouted into the communicator, praying that Sam heard him in time. Sam suddenly swerved in the air before opening fire onto the ground, startling the sniper into backpedaling until he disappeared into the long grasses. Sam soared above, clearly searching for the gunman but careful not to come too close in order to stay out of the sniper’s range. More gunfire peppered the tarmac; the sniper’s shots were infrequent and made higher-pitched pops in comparison to the three men farther up the tarmac from the runway.

Steve, meanwhile, finally made it to the edge of the tarmac, nearly colliding with a metal trashcan as Bucky tossed aside a stolen handgun and nearly hit the coughing security officer in the head with it.  The new assailant was a blond who carried a similar firearm, and he charged forward while raising the gun for a point-blank shot. Without thinking—he’d never get to them in time—Steve reached for the nearby trashcan lid and threw it at the new assailant right as he pulled the trigger.

_Twang!_

_“Eбать!”_ the man swore before turning his attention to Steve, the gun skittering away on the tarmac. Steve tensed, momentarily caught off guard at the extent of the scarring to the lower side of the man’s face. He prepared himself for the inevitable collision when the man changed his mind and instead charged towards the security officer. Keeping Bucky in sight, the man moved to stand over the officer, body tense and hand reaching for a second firearm as Steve cautiously approached with a hand up, his attention solely focused on Bucky as the other man took a few steps back.

It hurt, to see how Bucky changed in the past week. Since Steve last saw him, he’d cut the hair out of his eyes, but hadn’t shaved or eaten well; the clothes sagged on his frame a bit, and dark circles graced the skin underneath his eyes. Steve felt as though he was seeing a different man from his former lover and the assassin that had replaced him. He glanced at the two strangers and said, “Any way we can talk this down?” he said, addressing the scarred man, whose green eyes narrowed as he shifted his stance to block the security officer from Bucky.

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Or traitors,” he said, looking pointedly at Steve before moving to keep himself between Bucky and the security officer as the former shifted position.

“I did not betray anyone. Hydra took over S.H.I.E.L.D. in the last days, of course they’d paint me as the traitor,” Steve said, wondering how much MI6 knew of the entire fiasco at the Triskelion a week ago. The data upload would have exposed everything and everyone, but he did not know if the MI6 agents before him had gone through the data or perhaps someone else had. “Sam and I are still working for S.H.I.E.L.D., under the command of Director Hill,” he said, hoping that the title would at least cause the agent to hesitate.

He mentally flinched when Bucky took a step back, away from him. “Then why are you defending him?” the scarred agent said, nodding to Bucky, to whom he kept a steady aim. “Why defend a man who is wanted for over _fifty_ years of Western assassinations?” he demanded, lowering the gun as their third agent— _the sniper_ —stepped up behind Bucky, hand resting on a pistol.

“I’m not looking for the Winter Soldier, I’m looking for my partner that I thought lost decades ago,” Steve replied, keeping a steady tone as he met the scarred agent’s gaze. He heard the crunching of gravel as Sam slipped up behind him and stood by, ready to take flight again if necessary. “I couldn’t look for him after the war because I flew a plane straight into the North Atlantic and froze over. Didn’t wake up again until seventy years later,” he said, turning to look at Bucky, whose expression was painfully blank. _I’m sorry, Buck, that I couldn’t come looking for you. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to look for you, it was that I couldn’t. Please understand._

“Like Arkhangelsk.”

The scarred agent took a step back to better glare at his companion, who grunted as he pushed himself up onto his elbows to reveal a dark red patch on the tarmac. “Alec, it’s just like Arkhangelsk all over again,” he said, grimacing before lying back down flat with a stifled groan. “So _stand down_ before you get shot, I can’t watch that happen again,” he said, voice faltering towards the end of the sentence, chest fluttering rapidly as his eyes closed and head tilted towards Bucky and the sniper.

The agent—Alec—bristled before reaffirming his aim at Bucky even as he knelt to lay a hand on the security officer’s forehead. “How do I know this isn’t a Hydra trap?” he snapped, pulling the hammer back.

Steve felt his heart twist when Bucky stood very still, refusing to move out of the line of fire. _No, no, no Bucky, don’t do this. You don’t deserve this no matter what you think._ He slowly exhaled, glancing at the security officer as he sought for words.

“Alec, Bond will bleed to death if we don’t immediately get medical attention,” the sniper said in a soft voice, causing Bucky to flinch and step away from him. He stepped forward and said, “Let the Americans go, this is S.H.I.E.L.D.’s kill. We can renegotiate for the Winter Soldier, Hill is not in the best position to protect him anyway even if she wanted to.”

 _Over my dead body you will_. Steve felt his jaw twitch before he said, “There’s a hospital down the road, you can take the Jeep.” _Just get away from him._

The sniper nodded. “Nice flying, by the way,” he said, glancing at Sam before stepping around Bucky and kneeling at Bond’s side.

“Nice shooting,” Sam replied casually as Bucky took the opportunity to move behind Steve for safety; Alec still watched him carefully even as he knelt on Bond’s other side, ripping his sleeves to create makeshift bandages. “Nearly clipped one of the wings,” he added under his breath as Steve tossed the car keys to the sniper, who then left Alec and Bond.

“He’s a good shot, been training for years,” Alec said, his voice still edged with anger as he adjusted Bond into a sitting position and propped him up on a knee to better tie the bandages around Bond’s ribcage.

“Have we met before?” Bucky suddenly asked, voice rough with disuse.

Alec stiffened before he looked up. “Only once, in Prague. Your Hydra masters were quite enthusiastic in showing off your skills,” he replied coolly before turning back to his friend.

 _No, his partner_ , Steve realized when he saw Alec make a shushing sound when Bond flinched. He recognized the discreet caress and Bond’s slight relaxing when Alec grasped his free hand while still applying pressure to the makeshift binds.

“How about before that? Before you were burned and still in London?” Bucky said, ignoring Sam’s grimace at the choice of words.

Alec narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head to glance at Bucky. “Never. Wasn’t even in London after I turned eighteen, left foster care for the Royal Navy. Didn’t go back until eight years ago, someone had to keep _him_ from getting killed every other day,” he said, nodding to Bond, who managed to raise a hand to flip him off. “When I was in the Royal Navy, I was too busy keeping him out of trouble in order to keep an eye out for international assassins I didn’t believe existed,” he said, ignoring the bird as he forced Bond’s hand down. He glanced at Bucky, and then asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I remember seeing you once, not only in London but also in Moscow,” Bucky said, brow furrowing as he looked away. “I don’t remember why or when, but I do. ”

Steve glanced at Alec and then asked, “Did you have any family that lived in either of those cities?”

“Hell if I know, I grew up in foster homes after my parents died when I was little,” Alec spat before Bond elbowed him slightly in the stomach. He said something in quick Mandarin, to which Bond replied with another finger.

The Jeep pulled up a moment later, the engine startling Steve. He pulled Bucky back as the Jeep stopped near the two MI6 agents, and the sniper got out while leaving the engine to idle. He helped Alec pick Bond up, and as they carried him to the Jeep, the agent opened an eye and nodded once towards Steve before closing them again, seconds before Alec checked him.

Sam waited until the Jeep was already down the road before he said, “Did he just-”

“Yes, he did,” Steve said before turning to Bucky. He hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say, and then said carefully, “Come home, please,” while reaching for Bucky’s shoulder out of habit.

He withdrew his hand as though burned when Bucky flinched away. “I’m not going into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody,” Bucky growled, taking a step back with his body already turning as though to take flight.

“I’m not making you, I just said that to get rid of them,” Steve said, heart breaking at the intense _fear_ he could suddenly see in Bucky’s eyes. _What did they do to you?_ “Please…I just want you to come home, somewhere safe, and then we can work this out, and find peace.” _Please, please come home, don’t leave me again. Not when we’re this close._ For a moment, Steve was sure that Bucky would refuse and disappear again, starting the chase all over again.

Then, to Steve’s surprise, Bucky hesitated, and then nodded. “I’ll come home… just for now. I’m not done out here,” he said quietly.

Steve nodded, slowly releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Alec's expletive is supposed to be 'Fuck!', but I had translation difficulties and intend no offense to anyone if it is actually a grievous translation error.
> 
> Captain America and all related media belong to Marvel. James Bond and all related media belong to Ian Fleming.


End file.
